Camera Safety
by Armygirl0604
Summary: Because there's no way Stiles will get his hands on another camera at this hour...right? All rights to MTV


**Based on the theory that he was found by Stiles and Derek instead of his boss. Takes place in S1.**

His eyelids are heavy, now. Sinking, sinking, sinking shut. Going lower and lower. He's having trouble breathing. Why is that tree getting farther and farther away? There are gray spots around the edges. Is he in a tunnel? When did he enter a tunnel? And what's that sound? It's like a high pitched whine…is that him? Maybe it is…oh well. He can't remember what his voice is supposed to sound like.

There's some weird kind of fog in front of his eyes, too. Everything is really blurry and weird now, like he's under murky water. And he's tired, so tired. Maybe it'd be okay if he just slept for a while…just a little while. Not a long time. Maybe just a few minutes. He can always wake up and heal later, right? Derek won't mind. He'll understand, even, maybe. Probably. He's been tired before, right? He'll totally understand. Yeah, sleep would be fine. He'll just close his eyes for a while…just a little while.

"Dammit, Scott, wake up! Breathe! Fuck! Fucking hell, just breathe!" Something hot over his mouth and his lungs are expanding even though he's not breathing.

"Scott, wake up! Wake up, Scott, WAKE UP!"

Scott feels his eyelids fluttering but can't understand what's going on. Jackson is here? When did he get here? Or has he been here the whole time? Scott can't remember. But that first one, that was Derek's voice. At least, he thinks it was. Maybe. Is that what Derek's voice sounds like? He doesn't really remember stuff like that right now. His head is spinning, swimming, murky and hazy and is this what dying feels like? Is he dying? No, he can't be dying. Derek won't let him die. Besides, all he has to do is heal, and he can heal after he rests a bit. He's just too sleepy to do it. He'll rest for a while and then he'll do it. Just a few minutes is all he needs, right? Just a few minutes. He lets his eyelids sink shut again.

Something hits his shoulders hard. "Dammit, Scott, wake the fuck up before I rip your throat out!"

His head lolls to the right as he tries to follow the sound of Derek's voice. It's getting farther and farther away. "Derek," he moans. "Don't…don't go. Don't leave. Pl…d'n lv…" His words slur at the end, but he thinks that maybe, if he's not too far away already, Derek gets the message. All right, time to sleep again.

The hands won't let him, though, and he thinks that _maybepossiblyifhe'slucky_ there's a chance that Derek didn't leave, didn't leave him alone, because he can still hear him. The hands that are pushing and pulling and shaking feel strong like Derek's, too. Something pinches him and then there are sharp pangs against his face, like he's being slapped by Allison again. "I'm right here, Scott," Derek says. "I'm right here, but you've got to wake up. Stay conscious. Dammit, Scott, just open your fucking eyes."

There's something in the way that Derek says it. Like he's choking. He sobs, maybe, and he doesn't sound angry anymore. It's scary; maybe it's even one of the scariest sounds Scott has ever heard, and maybe this is why he's able to pry his eyes open for a second even though he's so, so, so, so, _so_ tired.

It's when his eyes open that he realizes that the squelchy, wet feeling, like he's lying in muddy water, is from the sticky red pool around him. The blood is everywhere. On his face, his hands, and mostly his chest and the back of his legs. He knows it's not all his. Some is Derek's, probably, and from the look of his face, maybe even some is Jackson's.

Derek's face is white under the half-moon and his lips are pursed in a way that scares Scott. His eyes, though, are the worst. Frightened and sad and pained, like maybe he'd miss Scott if he died. But his voice is strong and steady, and he's using his "Alpha Voice," the one he uses when he's telling Scott to do something. "Stay. Awake. Do not shut your eyes. Do not go back to sleep. Stay. Awake. Got it?"

Scott wants to nod, wants to tell Derek he understood, but it's all he can do to just follow the direct order, because he's so tired. Even more tired, now, maybe.

"There's so much blood." Stiles' voice is shaking and Scott doesn't even want to bother with the energy it would take to wonder when his wonderful idiot of a best friend stumbled up to the scene.

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek says. He grips Scott's shoulders roughly, bent over with his face close to Scott's. "Just look at me," he says. Don't think about anything else. Just look at me, and focus on staying awake."

Somehow, by some unseen power or inner strength, or maybe it's just the way Derek says it, like if he doesn't something bad will happen to him, Scott manages to stay awake. And eventually, he feels the prickles in his chest that tell him that the aching, gaping wound is closing and healing. And after what seems like a thousand years, he finally knows that his body is healed completely and he's safe from death. For now, anyways.

Derek looks tired and worn out; he looks worse than Scott feels, which is, frankly, pretty _fucking_ awful. But he also looks relieved, and he stands up, handing Stiles his jacket without a word.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Stiles asks.

Derek frowns, annoyed. "Well it's not like he can _walk_, can he?"

Scott realizes what is happening after it happens. Everything is moving in slow motion, the world oozing by like molasses, so that when Derek asks him if he can move, it takes him several seconds to understand, and a few more to answer by trying to. He gets as far as lifting his head and shoulders about three inches off the ground before he falls back, looking up with dazed and tired eyes.

Derek leans down and scoops him up into his arms, pulling him close to his chest. Scott shivers against the wind's chill, which had been previously blocked by the dumpster he was lying next to. Stiles shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Scott. Derek just pulls him closer to his chest. Exhausted, Scott's head thuds against Derek, and beneath the shirt, skin, and ribs, he can hear Derek's heart pumping, circulating the hot, living blood that makes him so wonderfully _warm._ Is Derek always this warm? If so, why does he bother with the jacket? Because frankly, leaning against Derek, Scott is probably the warmest he's ever been in his entire life.

"Derek…" he mumbles, so tired he can't even think straight. Wait, when did they start walking? "'m sl…sleepy," he slurs, struggling to keep his eyes open because, dammit, Derek told him to and he's not going to defy Derek, not when Derek's the one carrying him and making him feel so warm and safe and_ protected_, which he's never, ever felt to this degree. Ever.

Derek's voice sounds normal, now, and as annoyed as always. "Then sleep, idiot."

And with those three words, Scott's gone. The term 'dead to the world' makes both Stiles and Derek uncomfortable, given the current situation, and might have even fazed Jackson if the pathetic wimp hadn't run off, but there's no other way to describe it. They could probably shoot off a gun next to his ear and subject Scott to torture by earth, wind, water, and fire, and he wouldn't stir. There's no one on the planet, even Allison, who could wake him from the sleep he lapsed into as soon as Derek gave him permission.

There's only one thing that he's _maybe_ conscious to, to an extent, Derek realizes when he tries to tuck the kid into his bed after cleaning him up a bit and getting Stiles' help in changing his clothes (because he'll never be able to wear them again unless Milan suddenly decides that bloodstains are 'in season.') "Dammit, kid," he mutters, trying to pry Scott's fingers from his shirt. The kid was okay when he was being cleaned up, but then, Derek was right there, where Scott could sense him. Now he's trying to move away and Scott just isn't having it. Jeez, was that a _whimper?_ Did he actually just cry out for _Derek_, of all people, in his _sleep_?

Derek manages to get Scott to let go and the kid moans, his eyelids fluttering. Before his eyelids can flicker any higher, Derek swears softly, making it his goal to not wake Scott further, because then he'd have a clingy _conscious_ teenager on his hands, and he swears that if Scott looks at him with those pathetic puppy dog eyes, he'll get no peace. With a tired, annoyed sigh, he slides the kid over in the bed and gets in next to him, glaring at Stiles all the while. Stiles claps both hands over his mouth to stifle the giggles.

Oddly enough, given the situation, Derek manages to fall asleep rather quickly. It seems that if he simply stays in Scott's general proximity, Scott's okay, so he keeps to his bed corner and makes sure that Scott is well tucked up in his. With that done, it's relatively easy to fall asleep. Of course, waking up is more awkward, considering the fact that Scott is curled against him, shaking and crying in his sleep. He shakes the teen's shoulder, concerned. "Hey, Scott, wake up. Wake up. It's just a bad dream."

Scott's eyes flash open and he stares at Derek, just stares. His eyes are still flooded with tears when he silently latches his arms around the older wolf's neck and buries his face in Derek's shoulder. Startled, Derek's hands automatically come to rest on Scott's back, pulling him closer. And suddenly, Derek's back several years, to when he used to hold the smaller children in the family, like his one particular cousin Andy, who Scott has always reminded him of so painfully. Andy, always the fragile child of the group, would cling to Derek constantly, and it was his big cousin Derek he would run to with his tears and scabs and bruises. Derek he screamed for when nightmares struck him. Derek he called whenever he needed him. And Derek would always come running. Just like he did now, with Scott.

It was because of Andy that he knew what to say, and later, in his head, when he has time to think about it, he'll thank the little squirt for being so needy all the time (not that Derek ever minded all the undivided attention and idolization.) "Shh, shh. Hey, hey, hey. Shh. It's okay, Scott. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you, I'm here. No Alpha, no dead friends, no dead mom. Everyone's alive and safe and well and you didn't let the Alpha get them. You're safe. You're here, with Stiles and your mom and me. It's okay. You're not alone, I promise. I'm right here with you. I'm right here. I'm right here."

Somewhere in the midst of his comforting babbles, Scott falls silent. The tears slowly come to a stop and he rests his forehead on Derek's chest until the shivers and shakes go away. Derek rewards his ability to calm himself with a rare smile. "See? You're okay, Scott. You're okay, now."

A sleepy smile crosses Scott's face and he nuzzles against Derek, drifting back to sleep. Derek cringes a bit, knowing how awkward it will be when Scott is fully conscious and aware, which he currently _isn't_, but lets it happen anyways, because damn it all straight to fiery hell if he's going to deny the kid of anything when he's so obviously scared and confused. Maybe later, Scott will be ashamed, if he even remembers this, but that's a bridge they'll cross when they come to it.

Derek lies on his back and gets comfortable, letting Scott use him as a human/werewolf pillow and shuts his eyes. He can get a few more hours of sleep, and so help him, he's going to. Even Stiles' flashing camera, which quickly flies out the window, doesn't stop him from going back to sleep. After all, it's only three in the morning. There's no way the damn kid can get another camera yet…right?


End file.
